


November 30th at Midnight

by GwendolynGrace



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Facial Shaving, Fluff, Healthy Relationships, Jack's pedostache, M/M, Shaving, it's midnight on november 30, movember
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 12:23:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8713816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GwendolynGrace/pseuds/GwendolynGrace
Summary: Eric Bittle has a Plan. It will all begin when Jack comes home. It's November 30th, and it's almost midnight, and Eric's been waiting for Jack to get rid of his mustache and he's ready to make it happen.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [Jack's Pedostache](http://omgcheckplease.tumblr.com/post/151765740942) and several Tumblr posts tonight (11/30) reminding us that it's about time for said 'stache to GO AWAY.

At five minutes to midnight, Eric paces into the bathroom one more time. He's laid out everything they'll need as soon as Jack walks in the door. There's a fresh can of shaving cream on the vanity counter. He put a new blade in Jack's custom shaver earlier that afternoon. He's turned on the heated towel rack that Bob and Alicia gave Jack for Christmas last year. And he's even figured out how to steam more towels using the Jacuzzi, though he's now thinking a double-boiler might have been a more efficient method. But whatever. They'll use the jets in the tub afterward, he figures.

He's even made a special pie for the occasion. Chocolate meringue, of course. He rushes back out to the open-plan living area, just to make sure. No imaginary assailants have appeared to ruin the pie, to his relief. It sits invitingly on the island bar that separates Jack's kitchen from his living/dining room.

On Jack's kitchen wall, there's a Falconers calendar. Bittle's been marking off the days with a big Sharpie, and he's circled today's date: November 30.

It's midnight. Jack's late.

He paces again, imagining what it'll be like when Jack does get home from his game. He'll act like he's engrossed in something when Jack comes in, so that he doesn't offer him a kiss. Then he'll remind him about his promise and march him into the bathroom. He'll make Jack sit (on the toilet? the tub ledge?) and he'll loosen Jack's tie, peel off his shirt, and drape him with one of the warmed towels. He'll spray some shaving cream into his hand and carefully smear it on Jack's upper lip. Then he'll straddle Jack's impossibly long, impossibly muscular thighs, and with the old-fashioned, wood-handled razor, he'll carefully scrape Jack's lip clean. He'll shave off that horrible caterpillar on Jack's mouth, swaddle him in a warm, moist towel, and then he'll lower himself onto Jack's lap and kiss every millimeter of newly exposed skin.

He hears the elevator chime in the hallway outside. It's got to be Jack returning. "Alexa, play Lemonade," he says quickly, and the sound system cues up his album. He flops artfully on the sofa. Then he grabs the nearest magazine so he can pretend to be reading.

There's a sound of keys, the deadbolt unlocking, and the door swings open. Eric glances up at the sight of Jack coming through the door. His big, beautiful boyfriend never fails to steal the breath right out of his chest, and tonight's no different. He remembers at the last second to look away, back at the photo spread in the magazine. It's on tartes. No, maybe they're quiches. He can't tell right now and that's disturbing. He keeps stealing glances with only his eyes. Jack's just too compelling to ignore.

"Hey, bud," Jack greets Eric as he shuts the door behind him and throws the lock. He shuffles through the entryway with his small gym bag over his shoulder, stops at the closet to hang his coat and drop the bag, and kick off his shoes. "Sorry I'm late. I had something to take care of at the arena. I got your text about the goal." Eric knows that Jack never checks his phone in the middle of the games, but he texts anyway.

Eric says nothing. He flips a page of the magazine. Definitely tartes. Jack, meanwhile, crosses to the back of the sofa and bends all the way over to give Eric a kiss. "Bits?" he says as he closes in.

But Eric has other plans, of course, and so far, they're going perfectly. He pulls away by standing up so the sofa is between them. "Oh, no, Mr. Zimmermann--not while you have...that…." He trails off as he realizes that Jack's upper lip is clean.

"You said. Midnight," Jack tells him. "I got rid of it before I left the dressing room."

"Oh." Bittle deflates. It's not that he's unhappy the horrible lip hair is gone. He's been waiting for this for--well, for 30 days. But he'd had an evening planned, and Jack's rather scuttled it with his customary commitment to efficiency.

"Don't--tell me you'd changed your mind?" Jack says, worried. His eyes narrow. "Bits?"

"No, I haven't! I--I'm so happy, honey. Really," he drops the magazine. Really, he's not sure why he ever thought he could feign indifference where Jack's concerned. From the moment he walked in, Eric's been utterly fixated. 

Jack glances reflexively at the calendar. "You--there's no way you forgot the date," he insists. He turns to point at it to prove his statement.

"No." Eric shakes his head sadly.

"Well--Oh." For the first time, Jack sees the pie. "I think I see. You had a plan," he concludes with a grin.

"Yeah," Eric admits. But Jack's not done. His smile widens to a toothy smirk. 

"You had this all worked out, didn't you?" Jack chirps. He slides around the end of the couch, for all the world like he's still on ice skates, so smooth is the motion. "You had a whole scenario for tonight."

Bittle nods.

"A little fantasy?" Jack pushes in and Eric's forced into a smile as Jack grabs his hips. "A whole little planned activity?"

"Yeah," says Eric. His hands involuntarily float up to rest on Jack's chest. He can feel the meat of Jack's pectoral muscles and the warm, firm flesh under his dress shirt. 

Jack dips his head. "I messed up your plan, didn't I?" he murmurs, but as he does, he's moving in to capture Eric's lips.

Oh, Eric's missed kissing that mouth without any facial hair. It's smooth and only a little stubbly, even though Jack just shaved it. He yields to Jack's press, lets Jack tilt his chin higher, laps gently at the fresh-scraped skin of Jack's upper lip. 

"Mm--but--" he said, breaking away reluctantly. "I wanted to--to--"

"Welcome me home?" Jack suggests. "I'm sorry, Bits," he says again, with the long "o" of his Canadian accent. "I just knew you wanted it off as soon as humanly possible. Thought I'd surprise you."

"Well...you didn't know I was gonna make a production out of it. I was gonna surprise you, too, with a ritualistic shaving celebration," he explained. "I even have hot towels."

"And pie," Jack pointed out. He wraps his arms around Eric loosely. "I love that you thought this all through."

"I love that you got rid of it immediately." 

"I'm sorry it ruined your plan. I just knew you hated kissing me like that, and--well. I wanted to kiss you as soon as possible." He then demonstrates his kissing technique some more. Eric can't argue with or fault his logic. He manages to say so in between kisses.

The next time they break apart for air, Eric reaches up to run his thumb over Jack's lip, testing the softness. "Hm. We _could_ still moisturize there."

"Oh yeah?"

"Mm. And--well. I filled the hot tub."

"Now you're talking," Jack reaches down, cups Eric's butt, and lifts. Eric springs upward to wrap his legs around Jack's waist. Jack carries him like he weighs less than a feather. As he heads to the bathroom, he pauses kissing Bittle long enough to say, "Alexa, play the Mustache Song."

Then he very nearly drops Eric, because Eric is giggling too hard. But they make it to the bathroom, anyway. The Jacuzzi does not go to waste, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> You can also follow me on Tumblr @gwenlygrace


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